A Sicilian Secret (the pastry to die for)

It sits there so innocently, so confident in its own supremacy. It thinks its secret is safe from all with a sweet tooth. Anzi! On the contrary! You are discovered! Behold – the cassatelle alla Siciliana. This pastry remains a furtive delicacy to all but a few.

While staying in the seaside village of Balestrata, Sicily, my landlord Francesco shared his favorite coffee shop, Cafe del Golfo for a mid-morning espresso. As we entered, my eyes still adjusting from the Sicilian sun, I saw display cases on my right filled with mammoth trays of gelato so colorful, they rivaled a box of crayons.

At the heart of the bustling café, a quintessential Sicilian barista commanded the space, expertly crafting coffee masterpieces while engaging in conversation with eight customers at once. On my left, stands a 30-foot display case holding trays of pastries and biscotti (cookies) beyond description. As I stood there, eyes glazing, mouth watering, I wondered if there is a market for windshield wipers on the outside of the display cases. Francesco called me to his table. “Provare questo!” “Try this,” he said, presenting a small napkin upon which rested... an empanada in Italy? A turnover left out in a blizzard? What is this? “Casatelle, con ricotta. Manja.” Eat.

I must point out that, at 70 plus years, I've eaten my fill of sweets: Old world, New World, and somewhere in the Middle World. But that first taste gave me immediate rise to something Archimedes must have felt running naked through the streets of Siracusa, a mere 200 miles away. Eureka indeed! I've discovered something few people outside Sicily are aware.

A delicate, sweet crunch followed by the warmth of ricotta generously embedded with tiny morsels of chocolate bits, plus faint essences of cinnamon and vanilla. The shell is made, I was told, with Marsala wine, producing its unique flavor and texture. Fresh from the “friggitrice,” or deep fryer, these delicate treasures are liberally dusted with confectioners’ sugar. After that first bite, you look like you've just kissed the cream puff.

As I continued to travel from town to town across “the beautiful land of my fathers,” I made it a point each morning to enjoy my “espresso doppio e cassatelle.” I uncovered a few variations on this theme, some slightly sweeter and some less crunchy. However, each was worthy of that first experience, having found something pivotal to my ongoing search for the ultimate pastry.

But let me tell you something, Signore Cassatelle, your secret is out! Your cover is blown! I'm going to blab to the world! You are no longer a canolo's stepchild. The days of being incognito are officially over. Be prepared to be exposed to other dauntless souls who shall henceforth crave you, the Sicilian secret. It's a pastry to die for.

PS. If Mario Puzo, author of The Godfather, had been willing to share this secret with the world, Clemenza’s line could have been more aptly quoted as "Leave the gun, take the cassatelle.”